


Not a Birthday Cake

by Majinie



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Baking, Birthday Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, just fluff, no really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 17:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7231015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majinie/pseuds/Majinie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto raises his eyebrows and states flatly: “You hate birthdays.”</p><p>Defensively, Jack raises his arms: “Well, nobody said it's for your birthday! Maybe I just... happened to wake up with a craving and decided to make a cake. By chance, that just so happened to coincide with your birthday.” </p><p>“And so you broke into my flat at...” He glances up at the clock on the wall. “...wow, seven in the morning to bake a cake in my kitchen, because you happened to 'wake up with a craving'. I see.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Birthday Cake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HikariYumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HikariYumi/gifts).



> Happy birthday, my dear! ^.^

“You are _kidding_ me, how is that even supposed to work? That can't possibly... that doesn't go in there.” Ianto wakes to angry muttering from his kitchen, which is impossible to miss in his small (but cosy!) flat, and blinks his eyes open with a groan before he slowly straightens up in his bed while he listens to the string of complaints. “They didn't even _have_ that in the 51 st century anymore, that can't be that important.”

  
Slowly, the young Welshman sits up, the sheet falling down from his shoulders, and rubs a hand over his face. He swings his legs off the side of the bed and, after another stifled yawn, pads out of the bedroom – he's left the door open the night before, apparently, although he usually takes care of that – through the short hallway that leads to his kitchen.   
  
The image that greets him is... well, frankly, it's adorable, if a little bit concerning.  
  
Jack is standing with his back to him, hands on his hips as he heaves an indignant sigh. He's turned towards the marble counter that has a bag standing on top, or rather laying on its side, and Ianto can spot some of its contents from where he leans against the door frame – there's a bag of sugar, something small and colourful that might be sprinkles, and the rest of it is spread out over the counter.  
  
Now, Jack is reaching for a carton of eggs with a huff, opening it and taking one of the eggs out. He holds it up in front of him, surveying it like it's done him personal offence, then brings it down on the edge of the bowl in front of him.  
  
In the next second, there's a disgusted “ _ewww_ ” from him and he shakes his hand like it's on fire. Under his breath, he swears: “God dammit, this can't be that hard, what the fuck, this is just – _yikes_.” He turns, presumably to reach the sink to get rid of the mess of egg that's sticking to his palm, but the movement makes him spot Ianto and he visibly jumps. 

“How long have you been standing there?!” he demands, sounding half indignant, half whiny. Ianto smirks and looks him up and down once – Jack is wearing that dark blue shirt again in which he does look _very_ handsome, but it has the great disadvantage that the white dusting of flour on it is extremely well visible on the dark fabric. 

“For a bit,” Ianto responds non-committally, biting the inside of his cheek to suppress a laugh. “If you don't mind me asking... what exactly are you doing there?”

Jack glances back and forth between his boyfriend and the mess behind him. Slowly, he says: “Well... it's your birthday.”

The Welshman blinks, trying not to let his surprise show. Jack _remembered_. Still, that wasn't a real answer, so he pries on: “Yes?”

Jack shrugs, runs a hand through his hair (the one without egg, although there _is_ flour on the other one, so there's that – white hair doesn't look all that bad on him) and replies: “And I was... making a cake.”

Ianto raises his eyebrows and states flatly: “You hate birthdays.”

Defensively, the Captain raises his arms: “Well, nobody said it's for your birthday! Maybe I just... happened to wake up with a craving and decided to make a cake. By chance, that just so happened to coincide with your birthday.”

Now grinning a little wider, Ianto nods. Despite the fact that he should be appalled by the state that his kitchen is in, he actually finds all this pretty cute. “And so you broke into my flat at...” He glances up at the clock on the wall. “...wow, seven in the morning to bake a cake in my kitchen, because you happened to 'wake up with a craving'. I see.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

“And I didn't break in.” Jack moves to cross his arms, but thinks better of it when he remembers his still sticky hand, which he now holds awkwardly away from his body.

“You don't have a key,” Ianto points out.

“Details,” his Captain huffs. “I didn't _break_ the lock when I picked it, so it doesn't count as breaking in. And I couldn't very well go and bake in the Hub, could I?”

“I don't think you quite get the meaning of the phrase _breaking in_ ,” Ianto comments, but then decides to take mercy on his boyfriend. “So in the making of that cake, which is not getting baked for any particular reason other than that you felt like it, do you happen to need any assistance?”

Immediately, Jack shakes his head and responds “nope”, popping the 'p', before he takes a look around and relents: “Okay, so... maybe you can help a little. If you insist.”

“Then, for the sake of my kitchen, I do insist,” the Welshman decides, chuckling quietly. He pushes away from the door frame and walks over towards Jack, leaning forward to place a quick peck on his lips and then immediately swat his hands away. “You are _so_ not touching me like that,” he laughs, pointing at Jack's hand that's still covered in the poor remains of the egg he's destroyed before. “Go wash your hands and tell me what you were going to make.”

About an hour later, he's closing the hatch of the oven and surveying the mess that is his kitchen. All in all, could have been worse.

Since he's covered in flour now anyway because Jack doesn't seem to have passed the mental age of twelve in all the years he's lived, he doesn't protest when the other man wraps his arms around him from behind. Instead, he leans back against Jack's chest and tilts his head back to rest it on his shoulder while the Captain presses a kiss to his temple.

“So how come you've lived for... how long exactly?”

“It's impolite to ask a lady about her age,” Jack mutters gruffly.

“For quite a while,” Ianto continues with an eye-roll, undeterred, “and can't cook for yourself?”

“I can _cook_ ,” the immortal responds indignantly. “ _Baking_ is something entirely different.”

“Of course.” The Welshman smiles and allows Jack to turn him around and pull him close, covering the tee he's slept in in yet more flour. How much of the stuff _was_ there? “So, what now?”

Jack smirks cockily. “Well, I might have another birthday present in mind,” he murmurs suggestively, leaning closer.

Ianto grins back, teasing quietly: “Something you're better at than baking?”

“ _Much_ better,” the Captain promises lowly, his hands on Ianto's waist, pulling his boyfriend closer as he leans down for the first proper kiss that morning.

 

~*~

 

“Hey, do you smell that?” 

Ianto lifts his head from Jack's chest, sniffing briefly before his eyes widen. In a horrified whisper, he remembers: “We left the cake in the oven.” He bolts upright from the bed and rushes into the kitchen, completely forgetting about clothing. “We left the cake in the oven!”

From the bedroom, he can hear Jack's laughter following him and then the Captain calls out: “Happy birthday, Ianto Jones!”

The cake doesn't turn out so bad.

 


End file.
